powered

The Ozone layer shields us from UV
absorbing photons in its short-wave slot.
Those photons leave behind their energy;
each daylong hour, the tropopause gets hot.
Earth's shadow cuts that flow off every night;
black-body radiation cools Earth's face.
IR flows out, that had in-come as light
a tepid ember radiates towards space.
Beneath, it's sport to soar the troposphere
where heating's driven by warm Earth below.
convecting thermals get me out of here
be it from foot-launch, or from aero-tow.
The solar fusion-pile supplies the drive
that makes a pilot feel that they're alive.

Fall

the creeping Dark trims daylight at both ends
each sunset hastens and each daybreak lags
the radiation on which life depends
diminishes as harvest season drags
the change is swiftest at the equinox
between the solstices, more and more night
fair-weather sailboats hauled out in drydocks
acutely conscious of the waning light
new freshmen navigating the old school 
undreaming how much it is they don't know
but sure their generation defines "cool"
seem woefully unready for first snow
the leaves are fading, falling from the trees
as thoughts are turning to rewaxing skis

longing for empire

the brittle English sun can't warm the bones
it strikes the Earth through too  much atmosphere
what would be normal in sub-tropic zones
obliquely glances off the surface there
the Summers flitter past in Time's swift stream
like youths denying they'll one day grow old
but harvest season snaps us from the dream
we wake to find reality is cold
Brits flee for New Years to the Turkish shore
when snowflakes shroud the gardens of Hyde Park
to shed the bulky Winter garb they wore
when trudging home from work through rain and dark
but holidays must end and seasons turn
and Brits bring home their souvenir sunburn

longing for empire

the brittle English sun can't warm the bones
it strikes the Earth through too  much atmosphere
what would be normal in sub-tropic zones
obliquely glances off the surface there
the Summers flitter past in Time's swift stream
like youths denying they'll one day grow old
but harvest season snaps us from the dream
we wake to find reality is cold
Brits flee for New Years to the Turkish shore
when snowflakes shroud the gardens of Hyde Park
to shed the bulky Winter garb they wore
when trudging home from work through rain and dark
but holidays must end and seasons turn
and Brits bring home their souvenir sunburn

snowbirds

anemic Swedish sun can't warm the bones
it strikes the Earth through too  much atmosphere
what would be normal in sub-tropic zones
obliquely glances off the surface there
the Summers flitter past in Time's swift stream
like youths denying they'll one day grow old
but harvest season snaps us from the dream
we wake to find reality is cold
Swedes flee for New Years to the Turkish shore
when trees are bare and all the landscape's stark
to shed the bulky Winter garb they wore
when trudging home from work through endless dark
but holidays must end and seasons turn
and Swedes bring home their souvenir sunburn

solstice

the earth's spin-axis tips away from Sol
and moss luxuriates on stone and bark
while Summer warms yuletide on the South Pole
our holiday is feted in the dark
white LEDs fill what sunlight can't serve
to brighten up our seasonal affects
as we touch bottom on the year's sine-curve
'though hang-gliding's on hold, there's always sex
each solstice party testifies to faith
that rickets and pneumonia won't come back
'though pallid co-workers seem more like wraiths
with ev'ry sniffle and persistent hack
we huddle for the warmth if not for light
as friends renew old bonds this longest night